


Hellbound (In the Wrong Direction)

by TortiQuercu



Series: The Grandrookie [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 05:32:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3369662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TortiQuercu/pseuds/TortiQuercu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grant reveals his frustration to fellow Agents May and Triplett as he worries they aren't doing enough to help Skye. Suggested SkyeWard. Backdated missing work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hellbound (In the Wrong Direction)

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm not the only SkyeWarder who's been struggling since Season One wrapped, but I do apologize for my lack of new writing. I was asked by Oricke to write a "fill in the blanks" chapter for my Grandrookie series, and that seemed doable as the events of Uprising wouldn't have happened yet. It was still a lot harder than I expected! Oh Ward, WHYYYY? 
> 
> Please read "Under His Skin" first. Thanks!

Agent Grant Ward dropped his go-bag on the floor of the cargo bay and exhaled deeply. Another raid on Quinn's facilities, another lead on Centipede. He knew they had to strike while the iron was hot, but saving Skye had somehow become his personal primary mission and he couldn't help feeling like they were wasting time she didn't have.

"Lemme see your ribs," Agent May demanded in her usual gruff manner. He looked up and was vaguely surprised to see her leaning against the catwalk railing. "You're bleeding too much."

He shook his head, bemused, as she descended the spiral stairs. "Shanked with a piece of rebar, can you believe it?" he complained. "I didn't even hear him coming. I must be too tired for this shit."

May was already tugging his black t-shirt up and frowning at the oozing would on his side. "We all are. This is a mess. Get into the lab, I'll clean it up and have a better look at it."

"Where's John?" asked Grant, changing the subject rather than admitting he needed the assist. "He wasn't looking so great after we cleared the compound, I sent him back. Did he make it?"

"Upstairs with Coulson," she said, frowning. "He took a moderate blow to the head, Phil's keeping an eye on him. Dammit, this is too deep for the liquid stitches. I wish Simmons was here."

Ward shook his head emphatically as the lab doors slid open in front of them. "No, absolutely not. Someone has to stay with Skye, she's the best choice to look after her."

May raised her eyebrow. "I wasn't suggesting we abandon Skye, Grant." She looked like she wanted to say more, but the dark look on Ward's face warned her off. "I'm going to get Trip to look at you," she murmured reluctantly.

"Fine," he muttered in reply as she picked up the lab phone and called the other specialist down. Ward's ribs ached and his restlessness was overwhelming. "Any word from Simmons?"

"In the three hours you were gone, no, there wasn't," May informed him drily. "Any luck on the ground?"

Grant grunted as he stripped off his holster. "Heavier resistance than expected, but we hit the motherlode of shipping manifests. This was a bigger data centre than we were led to believe. Analysis is bound to give us some possible targets but it'll probably take a while to dig through."

"Well, that's something at least," murmured May. She was moving purposefully around the lab, pulling medical supplies from drawers and cupboards. When she circled back to him, she was holding a cloth and plastic bottle of irrigation solution and she began spraying down his wound.

Ward winced violently before cringing in pain with a somewhat abashed look. May gave him a hard stare. "It's cold!" he protested weakly. She shook her head, unimpressed.

Agent Antoine Triplett, Garrett's new right hand and protege, strode in confidently through the lab door. "So I hear my man needs a medic….. aioouch!" His eyes traveled to the bleeding mess in Ward's side. "What the hell happened to you?"

Ward exhaled in a huff. "Just wasn't fast enough, I guess. Can we all stop talking about it and just get it patched up? I want to get back upstairs and call in."

May silently handed Trip the plastic bottle and rolled her eyes before leaving. Trip chuckled and continued to clean the wound.

"You know," Trip said conversationally, "you won't be much use to her if you get yourself killed out there."

Ward grimaced. "I don't know what you mean."

"What's her name… Skye? Your computer security specialist."

"She prefers the term 'hacktivist', actually…. but what… whatever, it doesn't matter! I'm her SO, I'm supposed to protect her. I don't know what you're implying, but it's nothing personal."

Trip's lips were twitching as he carefully daubed Ward's wound. "Wasn't implying a thing," he smiled. "All I was  _saying_  is that, as Skye's SO, you need to be alive when she comes around. She's got a rough road ahead of her. She's a hell of a trooper from what I've heard, but with injuries like that, she's gonna need another fighter by her side during recovery."

Ward sat quietly as Trip tended to his side. He didn't make a sound when his fellow specialist gave him several injections, nor when he pulled out a needle and began to suture the angry wound closed one layer at a time.

"You all right, Grant?" Trip asked softly.

Ward's eyes snapped back into focus just as Trip held up a small surgical stapler. He glanced down at his ribs and noted, perhaps a bit grudgingly, that Triplett had done as excellent job sterilizing and pulling the layers of muscle and skin back together. He nodded at the suture stapler and Trip neatly clipped the outside layer of skin together.

"Hey Trip," he said hesitantly. The other man straightened and looked at him questioningly. "Tell me… for real. Will Skye make it?"

Trip put the stapler down slowly, before meeting Ward's eyes. "Man…. I dunno. We both know that two to the guts isn't something you come back from. If I was a stranger to Club Coulson and you told me she was still hanging on after all that….? I'd say you were crazy. Honestly, man, by all intents and purposes, she  _should_  be dead. Defies what I know about medicine, man."

Ward's lips tightened, the only outward sign that his blood had just run stone cold.

"… _..But_ ," Trip continued thoughtfully. "… For some dumb reason, I can't help but be optimistic. Coulson seems to think there is a miracle somewhere out there that can save her. Since she's still fighting, maybe she knows that. Maybe she's got faith. What do you think?"

Ward opened his mouth, as though he was going to say something, then slammed it shut again. He frowned and snorted in derision. "Skye's a stubborn pain in the ass," he eventually retorted, "and  _that_ _'_ _s_ the reason why she's hanging on. And I don't know exactly what the hell Coulson's got us chasing out here, but I have a hard time believing a magic cure is tucked in the back pocket of a Centipede soldier. Or in all that goddamned paperwork. I feel like we're all running hellbound, in the wrong freaking direction."

Trip shrugged with a sad smile. "Everything's always in the paperwork, though, Grant. And if there's one thing I'm sure of as far as Coulson is concerned, it's that he puts his team first. I wouldn't count him out."

Ward swallowed hard. "Thanks for… for the patch-up job," he said roughly. "It looks good. It'll heal fine, I'm sure.

Trip nodded and clutched Ward's shoulder. "No problem. Hey, I told Jemma I'd call her at 18:00, see how things are going. Why don't we see how John's doing, grab something to eat, and then we'll both talk to Jemma?"

"Sure. Yeah, that sounds good. Oh and… uhh… the stab wound? It was a piece of rebar."

"Yeah, I figured," Trip admitted. "It was none too clean, either, let me tell you. Maybe I'll start calling you 'Rusty'."

At that, Ward laughed, the first genuine amusement he'd felt since Italy. "Skye's gonna  _love_  you when she wakes up," he said. He smiled. "When she wakes up."


End file.
